


Misdirection

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magicians, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Magicians, Past Relationship(s), Rekindled Relationship, magic shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: Arthur, a famous magician, runs into a bit of trouble during one of his performances. Trouble goes by the name of Eames.





	Misdirection

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I was going through my folder of old stories to separate what had been posted and what was as WIP I could potentially pick up again. Colour me surprised when I found this story, written in August 2013, and never posted. I don't even know if anyone reads Inception fics much anymore but when I reread the story I found I was still happy with it and wanted to share it. So I hope at least a few of you enjoy it as well :)

“That’s a lovely trick you have there, darling.”

 

“Eames,” Arthur welcomed with a sneer, the crowd parting to offer a clear line of sight between the stage and the man in shambled attire. “How good of you to join us. You can afford my entry fee, I see.”

 

“Only when you perform at venues like this, I’m afraid,” Eames admitted, crooked smile on his lips as he meandered towards the edge of the stage.

 

“Lucky for you,” Arthur drawled.

 

“Very lucky indeed,” Eames agreed, crooked lips parting to flash a more crooked line of teeth. “Some might wonder why you still perform in these sorts of places with your current fame,” he hinted, though he would never be crude enough to declare anything and Arthur would never dare admit anything. They were still in front of a crowd.

 

“It wouldn’t be very fair of me to hide myself away, would it?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. Eames was at the edge of the stage now, staring up at him, and Arthur finally pocketed the golden pocket watch he had just used for his last magic act.

 

“It would be quite a shame.” Eames leaned on the corner of the stage. The crowd was beginning to grow restless, wondering if this was all part of the show. “Us lowly sort need your talented self to distract us from our boring lives.”

 

“Then perhaps I should continue my act?” Arthur suggested. He took three calculated steps back and swept a carefully-knotted bundle of rope off the back table.

 

“But that would mean the end of our delightful conversation.” Eames pouted, watching Arthur with sharp eyes as he walked back to the middle of the stage with the rope.

 

“Not such a shame,” Arthur sniped. He was teasing but few would be able to tell. A few people in the crowd chortled quietly behind polite hands. Eames’ smile didn’t waver. Arthur contained his sigh and eye roll and curled his fingers in a barely-noticeable gesture. “Maybe you would like to assist with my next trick.”

 

Eames was already halfway onto the stage, clamouring up instead of bothering with the stairs around the side of the stage. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Eames said as he approached and plucked the rope from Arthur’s hands, beginning to work on Arthur’s knot.

 

They were such an odd pair on stage. Arthur was in one of his dark tailored suits regardless of the fact that his audience wouldn’t care what material his cufflinks were made from. His dark hair matched his suit – everything slicked and perfectly in place. Eames, by comparison, was an outright mess. He was wearing the only suit Arthur thought he owned and the wear and tear of frequent use was obvious at the worn elbows and frayed cuffs. His hair was dishevelled and his jaw covered in a light dusting of scruff that looked forgotten rather than left on purpose.

 

Arthur gave his instructions and turned to face the side wall, allowing the loud, bustling crowd to watch curiously as Eames bound his arms and hands tightly behind his back. Once or twice Arthur swallowed a grunt when Eames tugged the ropes tight; the pain was always swept away by a comforting brush of fingers across his shoulder a short moment later. Arthur remained poised where he was as Eames bound him, and was grateful for the audience’s patience. Each new knot seemed to turn the room quieter, conversations hushed and then nonexistent when Arthur finally turned to face the crowd again.

 

“Who would like to test my bonds to ensure our Mister Eames had done an acceptable job?” Arthur glanced across the crowd. Two grown men pushed their way to the front of the crowd and Arthur nodded them both to the stairs, turning his back to the crowd so they could watch them inspect the bonds. They pulled and yanked at the rope, trying to wiggle their fingers beneath the bindings to find a loose piece and failing. Arthur was halfway through thanking them and turning back to the audience when one of them attempted one final tug at the rope, jarring Arthur’s wrist as a breathless gasp fell from his lips.

 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Eames growled, scaring the two men off the stage. What Eames lacked in wealthy fashion appearance he made up for with his broad shoulders and intimidating stance.

 

Arthur kept his eyes closed for a moment as he breathed deeply in and out, rotating his wrist in the rope as much as possible to confirm that the pain did not indicate a sprain or break. Once he was certain that his wrist could still perform the act, he blinked his eyes open and swept the crowd with a nonchalant smile as the two men were forcefully escorted out of the room; he was famous enough that the rough behaviour would not be tolerated. He was worth too much.

 

He could see a few people standing in the first few rows looking up at him with wide eyes, ready to be dazzled. Arthur’s smile morphed into a small smirk. “Would someone with a few more manners like to assist me next by looking over the chamber I will be using? Yes, you there in the yellow bonnet.”

 

Eames rolled out a large glass tank that was about seven feet tall – large enough for Arthur to fit in with a bit of moving room, but not much excess – and positioned it under the crude water container hung from the ceiling. The tank was empty and clear as it was brought out, raised about a foot off the stage floor by four wheels. The young woman in the yellow bonnet came up on stage and inspected the tank with a little more finesse than the first two men, looking the glass over for cracks and inspecting the lock. She made Arthur’s job even easier when she commented that he would not be able to use a trap door with this since it was raised off the floor; “A pleasant change,” she praised with a flirtatious smile as she was escorted off stage.

 

Eames opened the tank for him and let Arthur step in, shutting the glass behind him and snapping the lock in place. Arthur closed his eyes as Eames spun the tank slowly, showing off every angle to the crowd and tugging on the lock to show it was truly closed. It was only when Arthur was facing the crowd again that he stole a quick glance to Eames beside him. Eames returned his gaze but Arthur was already turning back to the audience, offering one final smug smile before the cape was thrown over the tank and blanketing Arthur in darkness.

 

It was all about timing. For three seconds the cape over the tank hung too far in the front, cascading down to the floor. In the fourth second Eames would tug the cape back a bit, ensuring that the space between the bottom of the tank and the floorboards was visible. In those three seconds the bottom of the tank and the trap door in the floor opened up, dropping Arthur five feet to the cushioned landing below.

 

Arthur could hear the tank beginning to fill with water above on the stage as he forced himself to his feet and began working on the rope as he walked up the stairs to lead him up on stage behind the curtain. Arthur’s main tricks involved slight-of-hand but that wasn’t enough to sell out a room; even when people didn’t understand how the trick was done they still scoffed at the simplicity of it regardless of the time and practice it actually took to learn. Therefore, Arthur had a few other tricks to finish off his shows.

 

He was an expert with ropes and knots and required no magic or trickery to work his way efficiently out of Eames’ knots. Unfortunately there were not many people who would pay to simply watch a man untie knots no matter how complex, so Arthur had to spruce up his performance. He was a man of business and knew how to show what needed to be seen while hiding everything else from sight. He got paid to misdirect his audience’s attention, having their eyes on a covered tank filling with water rather than wondering what might be below the wooden stage.

 

The crowd was beginning to grow restless, muttering to their companions or themselves. It would not be the first time a brash magician surrendered their safety to put on a show only to lose their lives in the process. Arthur had heard their nervous chatter many times before, standing out of sight as he worked his bonds, and he had never been able to decide if the crowd was truly scared for his wellbeing or if they were just wound up at the thought of gossip.

 

The ropes finally slid free and Arthur held it in his hands. He remained behind the curtain for a moment longer. The water had finished filling the tank; the only sound in the room was the nervous whispering. Knowing it was time, Arthur swept the curtain aside as he began rolling up the rope to tie it in a familiar bundle. The whole room fell into shocked silence as Arthur strolled past the tank, yanking the cape off the tank as he passed to display the tank full of water – lock still in place. When he stopped at the edge of the stage and pulled the final knot to bind his bundle of rope and hold it up, everyone began clapping at once.

 

The applause was like thunder.

 

#

 

Arthur sat at the small desk in his dressing room behind the stage, his forearms and hands resting on the rough wood. The room was dingy and in dire need of a paint job but Arthur was grateful for the silence and privacy. He sat quietly, watching himself in the smudged mirror as he took deep breaths. The night hadn’t been particular eventful, but it could have been. Arthur’s manager and on-stage assistant, Matthew, had come down with a terrible cold the day before, leaving Arthur without an aid for his show. He could have cancelled, except that Arthur was known for never cancelling a show.

 

The dressing room door clicked open and closed again but Arthur didn’t look over. He watched in the mirror as Eames slid into view and leaned against the desk. They sat in silence, Eames watching Arthur and Arthur watching the mirror. “They loved you,” Eames commented eventually.

 

Arthur offered a half smile. “They always do.” They fell into silence again and Arthur began massaging his sore wrist through the fabric of his shirt. “Thanks for helping tonight. And, you know, for not killing me.” Arthur laughed softly.

 

Eames chuckled and leaned into Arthur’s personal space. “What makes you think I would kill you?”

 

Arthur shrugged. “You perform magic too. Maybe you would want to remove any competition to seek out your own fame.”

 

“We both know I don’t do it for the fame,” Eames chided him.

 

“Why do you do it then?” Arthur finally lifted his gaze to look at Eames, meeting those bright eyes in the garish light of the dressing room. “You’re just as skilled as I am, and more charismatic. Everyone would love you if you just gave them a reason. So why do you only perform on street corners?”

 

“Attention,” Eames said simply.

 

“You mean fame,” Arthur stated his question, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Fame involves the attention of the masses,” Eames reminded him. “I only desire the attention of one man.”

 

Arthur dropped his gaze to his hands. “That can’t be the only reason.”

 

“What makes you so sure?” Eames hummed.

 

“You love magic.” Arthur huffed.

 

“I do,” Eames agreed. Arthur wasn’t looking but he could hear the warmth of Eames’ smile in his voice. “And I enjoy performing for people on the street who just want a show and care nothing for the politics and competition of the business.” Arthur didn’t know what to say to that so they both ended up sitting wordlessly for a few minutes. The stage was being cleaned with all of Arthur’s props being stacked in a wagon out back. He would need to leave shortly but had nowhere to go until his things were ready.

 

At some point Eames decided to sit on the desk, causing the wood to creak warningly. “I wouldn’t trust this desk,” Arthur admonished, voice a bit slow as his tiredness set in. When Eames refused to heed his warning Arthur didn’t bother repeating himself.

 

Again they sat in silence but this time Eames reached forward to carefully lift Arthur’s hands and rest them on his thighs. Arthur didn’t comment and merely watched as Eames slowly unbuttoned his cuffs, setting his gold cufflinks on the desk with care before rolling his sleeves up his forearms. The bruises from the ropes were already starting to form and his right wrist was a bit red and swollen from the abuse.

 

“I really wish you’d stop making your acts so dangerous.” Eames sighed as he held Arthur’s right hand in his own, palms pressed together. “Especially the ropes. I know you’re talented with them but there’s no need to add water. What if one day something goes wrong?”

 

“I’m careful,” Arthur defended. He was very aware of his hands, one laced with Eames’ and the other on Eames’ warm thigh, though he didn’t move either away.

 

“And what if I had killed you tonight?” Eames lifted an eyebrow.

 

“You wouldn’t be reprimanding me now,” Arthur shot back.

 

“Arthur, I’m serious!” Eames snapped. Arthur hissed in pain when Eames’ movements jolted their joined hands slightly. Then he relaxed slowly as Eames’ warm thumbs began working soothing circles into his skin and muscles, apologetic. They both watched Arthur’s hand and arm as Eames carefully massaged his bruised skin and wrist before moving onto his other arm. “I worry,” Eames confessed quietly a few minutes later.

 

“I know.” Arthur’s voice was just as hushed, like they were sharing secrets. “I worry too.” The streets were not so kind to street performers. Many had ended up with their throats slit, blood trickling into the gutter. Arthur didn’t protest when Eames carefully held Arthur’s injured hand with his own and slid his other hand into Arthur’s hair; no one else was allowed to ruffle his slicked hair. As his hair finally fell free, strands falling into his eyes, Arthur spoke. “You should work with me.”

 

Eames’ fingers froze and then slowly began brushing through Arthur’s hair again, sending tiny shivers down Arthur’s spine. “That’s a new request,” Eames commented, guarded, unwilling to fully show his reaction yet.

 

“I think we could make it work,” Arthur reasoned. “It was obvious that everyone really enjoyed our show tonight.”

 

“And you’d trust me with your secrets?” Eames asked seriously. “With your _life_?”

 

Arthur met Eames’ gaze strongly. “You already know the answer to that.”

 

Eames’ eyes softened and his smile grew warm. “Then I accept.”

 

“Good,” Arthur gave a tiny smile in return. He checked his pocket watch and then forced himself to stand, Eames’ hands slipping free of Arthur’s hair and grasp. But Arthur remained standing in front of Eames, allowing Eames to roll his sleeves back down and thread his cufflinks back in place. “Come by my place tomorrow morning and we can start working on a routine.” His cufflinks were in place and Arthur knew his things would be ready by now. “Do you,” he hesitated, picking up his coat but having Eames pluck it from his hands. “Do you remember the address?”

 

Eames held his coat up and Arthur turned his back, slipping his arms into the sleeves slowly. Before he turned around he felt Eames’ warm hands ghost over his hips to smooth out his coat and lips brush along the exposed back of Arthur’s neck. “I could never forget, darling,” Eames breathed against his skin. Arthur shivered and turned, standing too close but not yet backing off. “Though I don’t suppose I could just borrow a ride over tonight,” Eames suggested, bold but also polite, giving Arthur a chance to say no.

 

Arthur debated the request for a long moment before finally leaning forward just enough to press their lips together. The kiss was short, sweet and hesitant, but it sparked familiar and pleasant memories. Arthur didn’t linger, instead pulling away as soon as he was sure he remembered the taste of those lips. “Grab your coat and meet me by the carriage out back,” Arthur told him, lips tingling with his smile that was mirroring Eames’ own as Arthur finally turned and headed for the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on: [Tumblr](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/), [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/onewhositswiththeturtles), or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/owswtt)


End file.
